


Marked and Death: Theme and Variations

by MundaneChampagne



Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Fugue Feast in July, Gen, The Outsider ponders some things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-30
Updated: 2016-07-30
Packaged: 2018-07-28 06:02:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7627894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MundaneChampagne/pseuds/MundaneChampagne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Outsider thinks about death sometimes.</p><p>Not very often. But sometimes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Marked and Death: Theme and Variations

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Emerald Embers (emeraldembers)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/emeraldembers/gifts).



**Vera Moray**

_He remembered the first time she'd caught his interest. Vera. She turned down an Emperor's offer of marriage. He was intrigued. What did she want that an Emperor couldn't give her?_

_He watched as she married Preston Moray, and for a while, he thought he'd figured it out. Moray took her all over the world. They explored the Isles, both the teeming cities and the forgotten places. Then Pandyssia, the great jungles and barren moors, the great mountains and lush seashores. Moray gave her horizons, and for a while, Vera seemed content._

_And then something changed. They explored an ancient city, long abandoned. She was restless again. She and Moray poured over notes for hours. She would go out at night, with nothing but a lamp to guide her, and slipped down further into the ruins, into the places that Moray warned her against_ _—structurally unsound, the ceiling might collapse_ _—but she didn't care. She traced over the glyphs in the stone. She struggled to decipher their secrets._

_Finally, the Outsider couldn't stand it anymore. He brought her into the Void._

_"Hello Vera." She wasn't surprised, or frightened. Rather, she leaned into his every word with a keen interest._

_"I've been watching you for some time." He tilted his head, an action that she mirrored. "I've watched you leave an Emperor wanting. I watched as you saw the world. And now, in these ancient places? What do you expect to find there? What secrets are you trying to unlock?"_

_"Tell me Vera, what is it you_ want? _"_

She reaches out to him, entices him into a waltz. Curious, this physical contact—none of his Marked have ever bothered to touch him before. She puts her hand on _his_ waist, leads _him_ through a dance—no music but the silence of the Void.

How long has it been since she first came to his attention? Some of their years? Many of their years?

He doesn't know, but each time they dance, her hair is greyer, her face more wrinkled, her voice descending into cracks and mutterings—

But she still wants the world.

He has figured Vera Moray out, after so long. She is not content with an Emperor or with the mysteries of Pandyssia. She will accept no less than the world itself.

The opposite of what he has. He has but the Void, and his Marked—she wants it all, everything, while he has nothing.

 

_"Hello Vera. It has been some time since we last spoke. Preston's bones are polished down to nothing by now, their power gone. And you? Your bones are still living, but they struggle to reach out and grasp all that you wish. I can feel your joints crack, Vera. Even with witchcraft, there is only so much time._

_"What will you make of it?"_

Nothing.

Bones and rats and blood and a grisly soup—

And his _favorite_ , his Corvo, flies in and whisks it all away.

They clash sometimes, his Marked. It is always interesting when they do. On their own, the Marked impose themselves on the world. Are able to move it and sculpt it in ways that the Outsider never could on his own. They make him powerful, prove that he has some influence. That even though he floats impotent in the Void, that he can somehow make his own Mark on the world.

And yet, no matter how they clash, how they shape, how they tear down and build up—

They are just dust in the end.

Dust in books, dust in dirt, dust and blood and years and years—

There will always be more. And like a child, he focuses on the new and exciting ones.

 

_"And now Vera is gone. And her story is ended, and it will show up only as a footnote in textbooks: a bold woman who left an emperor wanting, and traveled the world instead. That is only a part of the story, but it is all that will survive. Even blood and bones fade in the end."_

 

**Daud**

_The child from Serkonos did not cry. The child from Serkonos never cried—the last tears he ever shed were when he was forced from the only home he'd ever known._

_His tears later in life were shed from blood instead._

_The Outsider watched the child who clawed his way up from nothing, determined that the world would give him his due. The world fought back, and nearly knocked the boy from his meager perch, and the world would've succeeded. Another life forgotten, washed away in blood and empty dreams._

_But the Outsider doesn't always like what the world offers. And he intervened._

_Daud was his favorite for a long time. The man upended order wherever he went, only to fade into shadows afterwards. Collected them: the unfortunate, the downtrodden, the mean, and turned them into a force that could've toppled the world, but merely kept the playing field equal instead._

 

Daud always questions him. Always argues, never accepts what the Outsider says. It is refreshing. For once, the Outsider is allowed to talk _to_ someone, instead of merely _at_ them.

Soon enough, however, it becomes tiresome. Daud always argues, never ceases to argue, and the Outsider grows bored with their verbal sparrings. He seems content to perch in that niche he has built for himself, a niche of death bought and paid for, but never anything audacious.

There are better diversions for him.

 

_And then Daud had his attention again. An Empress. A world turned upside down. Drowning in rats, squirming under the heels of a tyrant. Oh yes. Daud is more interesting now than ever._

_So the Outsider gives him a reward._

Another clash of his Marked. Delilah was like a supernova, bright and burning and beautiful, and snuffed out in a great explosion that shreds apart what it touches.

And Daud? What of Daud's fate?

Well. That is up to another.

 

**Corvo**

_It is so rare that his Marked grow old and die. He chooses them carefully, and they almost never disappoint. They always go in a blaze_ _—of fire, of light, of dark, of laughter and boldness and glory._

_But Corvo was always more careful. His life was not about shaking the world, but about watching it: guarding it, protecting it, keeping it in its proper balance._

_And even Marked, he is similarly careful. He picks up the world, dusts it off, and places it back where it came from._

_But it is fun to watch. Oh yes is it fun._

 

And when Corvo dies, old and grey, the Outsider is satisfied in a way that he rarely is with his Marked.

He will remember this one for a long time.

 

And sometimes he wonders—what would it be like to close the book on one's life?

He doesn't think he'll ever find out.


End file.
